最悪の顔合わせ The Worst First Meeting
最初の招集がかかった時点で、ろくな空気にならないことは分かっていた。
場所は守護局本部の会議室。
広報案件に使うには妙に無機質で、任務説明に使うには妙に気まずい部屋だった。
机の上には資料。壁際には広報課が持ち込んだ企画書。中央には「市民向け印象改善施策案」。
冗談なら笑えた。
先に来ていたのはフィニスだった。
椅子に浅く座り、資料を読んでいるふりをしている。
視線だけ上げて、こちらを見る。
「来たんだ、イグニス」
「命令だからな」
「怖い顔。広報向きじゃない」
「お前に評価される筋合いはない」
一瞬、間が落ちた。
フィニスはそれを面白がるように、わずかに口元を上げた。
「最初からそれか」
「最初からだ」
それ以上は続かなかった。続ける必要もない。
次にウィスが入ってくる。
扉を開けた瞬間、室内の空気が雑になる。
「おお、揃ってるな。で、何だこの話。俺たちいつから楽団だ」
「知らん」と俺。
「知ってても言わない顔だな」
「お前に説明する義理はない」
ウィスは気にした様子もなく椅子に座る。
資料を一枚めくり、数秒で興味を失った。
「で、誰がこんなもん通した」
「止まるならここまで降りてこない」
「だろうな」
最後にネロが入る。
足音が静かすぎて、一拍遅れて存在に気づく。
視線だけで室内を把握し、席に着く。
資料に目を通し、短く言う。
「却下は通らない前提で進んでいる」
「夢がないな」とウィス。
「現実的だ」
「そこは同意する」と俺。
四人揃ったところで、広報課の担当者が入ってきた。
若い文官だった。
一歩踏込んだ瞬間に、場の圧へ気づいた顔をする。
逃げ場のない場所へ来た人間の顔だ。
説明が始まる。
市民向けイメージ戦略。認知改善。若年層への訴求。組織の親和性向上。
言葉は整っている。並べるほど中身が薄くなる。
ウィスは途中で天井を見た。フィニスは退屈そうに笑っている。ネロは無表情。俺は担当者の声の揺れを聞いていた。
そして最後に、決定事項が出る。
ボーカル、イグニス・アウレリオ。
ギター、フィニス・ラス。
ベース、アニムス・ネロ。
ドラム、ウィス・エッジ。
静かになった。
ウィスが先に口を開く。
「何で俺がドラムだ」
「行動力と打撃力のイメージからで──」
「雑だな」
ネロが続ける。
「分類基準が浅い」
フィニスは紙を見ながら言う。
「俺がギターなのは見栄えか」
「ステージ映えと──」
「なら断る理由はない」
俺は自分の欄を見る。
理由は書かれていない。
中央に立たせた時の印象。それだけだ。
ネロが資料を置く。
「印象で配置を決めるなら、現場は不要だな」
担当者の喉が詰まる。
それでも続けるしかない顔だった。
「質問は以上でしょうか」
「山ほどある」とウィス。
「断る選択肢は」とフィニス。
「ありません」
「即答か」
「予算は」とネロ。
「承認済みです」
早い。最初から逃げ道はありません。
これは遊びじゃない。上は本気だ。
会議が終わっても、誰もすぐには動かなかった。
ウィスが背もたれに体を預ける。
「で、どうする」
「やるしかない」と俺。
「最初からそれか」とフィニス。
「お前と合わせる前提で話していない」
「奇遇だね。こっちも同じ」
空気が一段冷える。
ネロが間に入る。
「前提を揃えろ。やるか、やらないかだ」
「やるに決まってるだろ」とウィス。
「なら条件だ」とネロ。
視線が集まる。
「遊びで来るなら、最初の音で切る」
「いいね、それ」とフィニス。
「最初から選別か」
「無駄を省くだけだ」
俺は資料を閉じた。
「やるなら形にする」
三人がこちらを見る。
「広報のためでも、見世物でもない」
「出す以上は、聞けるものにする」
フィニスが笑う。
「命令で始めて、その顔で締めるのか」
「気に入らないなら降りろ」
「降りる気はない」
ネロが短く頷く。
「それでいい」
ウィスが立ち上がる。
「じゃあ決まりだ。まずは音出すぞ」
こうして、最悪の顔合わせは終わった。
仲がいいわけじゃない。むしろ逆だ。
だが、任務なら並ぶ。それが守護局だ。
そしてその並びが、この後どうなるかは、この時点では誰も読めていなかった。
By the time the first summons came down, I already knew the atmosphere would be terrible.
The place was a conference room inside Guard Bureau headquarters.
Too sterile for a publicity project. Too awkward for an operational briefing.
Documents lay across the table. A proposal from the Public Relations Division sat by the wall. At the center was a sheet labeled “Civic Impression Improvement Plan.”
If it had been a joke, I could have laughed.
Finis was there before me.
He sat shallowly in his chair, pretending to read the documents.
He lifted only his gaze and looked at me.
“So you came, Ignis.”
“It is an order.”
“That face is severe. Hardly suitable for public relations.”
“You are in no position to evaluate me.”
A brief silence dropped between us.
Finis let the corner of his mouth rise, amused by it.
“So it starts like this.”
“It starts exactly like this.”
There was nothing more to say. There was no need.
Wis came in next.
The instant he opened the door, the air in the room grew rougher.
“Oh, we’re all here. So what is this? Since when did we become a band?”
“No idea,” I said.
“That is the face of a man who knows and would not say even if he did.”
“I have no obligation to explain anything to you.”
Wis did not appear bothered.
He dropped into a chair, flipped through a page of the documents, and lost interest in a matter of seconds.
“So who approved this mess?”
“If it could have been stopped, it would not have reached us.”
“Fair enough.”
Nero arrived last.
His footsteps were so quiet I noticed his presence a beat late.
He took in the room with a glance alone, sat down, read through the materials, and said shortly,
“They are proceeding on the assumption that rejection is impossible.”
“No dreams in you at all,” Wis said.
“It is realistic.”
“On that point, I agree,” I said.
Once all four of us were present, the Public Relations staffer entered.
A young civil officer.
The moment he stepped into the room, his face changed as he realized the pressure in it.
It was the face of a man who had walked into a place without an escape route.
The explanation began.
Civic image strategy. Recognition improvement. Appeal to younger demographics. Institutional approachability enhancement.
The words were well arranged. The more he lined them up, the thinner they became.
Wis looked up at the ceiling halfway through. Finis smiled in boredom. Nero remained expressionless. I listened to the tremor in the staffer’s voice.
Then, finally, the decisions were stated.
Vocal: Ignis Aurelio.
Guitar: Finis Ras.
Bass: Animus Nero.
Drums: Wis Edge.
The room went quiet.
Wis spoke first.
“Why am I the drummer?”
“Based on an image of mobility and striking force—”
“That is shallow.”
Nero followed.
“The classification standard is weak.”
Finis looked down at the paper and said,
“So I am guitar for appearances?”
“For stage presence and—”
“Then I see no reason to refuse.”
I looked at my own entry.
There was no reason written there.
Only the impression I made when placed at the center. That was all.
Nero set the papers down.
“If role assignment is determined by impression, then the field is unnecessary.”
The staffer’s throat tightened.
Even so, he had no choice but to continue.
“Are there any further questions?”
“A mountain of them,” said Wis.
“Is refusal an option?” asked Finis.
“It is not.”
“That was quick.”
“And the budget?” said Nero.
“Already approved.”
Fast. There had never been an escape route to begin with.
This was not a game. The people above us were serious.
Even after the meeting ended, no one moved right away.
Wis leaned back against his chair.
“So. What do we do?”
“We do it,” I said.
“Starting there already? EFinis asked.
“I was never speaking on the assumption that I would align myself with you.”
“How lucky. Neither was I.”
The air cooled another degree.
Nero cut in between us.
“Set the premise first. Are we doing this or not?”
“Of course we are,” said Wis.
“Then there is one condition,” said Nero.
All eyes turned toward him.
“If you come to this as a game, I cut you off on the first note.”
“I like that,” Finis said.
“So we begin with selection?” I asked.
“It is only the removal of waste.”
I closed the documents.
“If we are doing this, then we shape it properly.”
The other three looked at me.
“Not for public relations. Not as a spectacle.”
“If it is going out, then it becomes something worth hearing.”
Finis smiled.
“It starts from an order, and you still end it with that face.”
“If you do not like it, leave.”
“I have no intention of leaving.”
Nero gave a short nod.
“That will do.”
Wis stood up.
“Then it is decided. We start by making sound.”
And that was how the worst first meeting came to an end.
It was not friendship. If anything, the opposite.
But if it was a mission, we would stand in line together. That was the Guard Bureau.
And what that line would become after that—at this point, none of us could yet read.